The C.e.o. and The Secret Heiress

Chapter Four

Matt didn’t know why he was doing this, touching her, and experiencing this overwhelming need to fix whatever was “broken.” He wasn’t a rescuer of people. Companies, yes. People, no. He gave them a wide berth, and that’s what he should have been doing with B.J. right then. This whole thing felt awkward and alien to him. And when she moved quickly, turning away from him and breaking that contact, he let her do it.

“I’ll survive,” she said, pushing toward the car door. “I just hope that kid can.”

“He will. He’s tough,” he said, turning from her to look over his left shoulder at the traffic. It had thinned some and he slipped easily out into the road.

“You sound so damn sure,” she said.

He didn’t look back at her. He didn’t want to start that craziness all over again. “I am. He’s a survivor.” He negotiated a lane change and sped up to a normal speed finally. “Now, ask me whatever it is you need to know about the center.”

“If he isn’t going to the center, could he?”

“I meant a change of subjects,” he said.

“I want to know.”

He gripped the steering wheel, smoothing the leather with his hands and wondered why he could still almost feel the silky heat of her skin on his fingertips. “If someone in his family works for LynTech, he can.”

“And if no one in his family works there?”

“Then he can’t, at least until it opens in the new facility where we were. Then it’s going to go public and be available to people working in the neighborhood.”

“For a price?”

“It needs to get some capital to help keep it going. That’s a given.”

“I know, money is the bottom line, even with the kids.”

“If it was up to Lindsey, she’d let all kids in for free, even a kid like that.”

“There you go again. He might be a good kid, just impulsive. A lot of people are impulsive. He’s not about to hot-wire some car and go for a joyride.”

“Give him time.”

“What is it with you pigeon-holing people you don’t even know?”

He glanced at her and was a bit taken back to see a real degree of anger in her face, even with the lights of Christmas touching the sweep of her throat as her chin lifted a bit. This was crazy. He was tired of defending himself to her. “All things being equal, I should be at my place working, and if I hadn’t been kept late waiting for…” His words trailed off and he looked back at the evening streets. “I’m not going down that road.”

“You can say it. If Brittany Lewis hadn’t kept you waiting you’d be doing something exciting like balancing figures.”

He narrowed his eyes on the road, thinking that after meeting B.J. anything would be anticlimactic. “Now I have to figure out how to tell her father she never showed. He’s not going to be a happy camper.”

“Maybe she got held up somewhere?”

“You’re probably right,” he conceded, rerouting his thoughts to something less complicated. Something very simple. “She probably got held up trying to figure out which color lipstick looks best with wedding gowns,” he said, turning toward the middle of the city.

“Why did you bring up wedding gowns?”

“I guess it’s not big news when she dumps another fiancé,” he murmured. “But being a no-show for a job that her father knocked himself out to set up for her seems pretty self-absorbed and petty. She’s probably never worked a day in her life, then her dad gives her a chance to do something productive, and she bolts. She’s probably on her way to some exotic place to lie around in the sun until the urge to work goes away. And her father’s going to feel betrayed and angry and—”

“Her father told you all of this?” she asked, cutting off his rambling dissertation.

“Not verbatim, but it’s obvious. He’s just trying to do something to salvage the situation. He’s her father, for heaven’s sake. How’s he supposed to feel? She’s put him through the wringer, and the poor guy just wants things to be okay.”

She was silent for a moment before saying, “You…you never know. Maybe she just got delayed.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know, but I can’t imagine she’d come all this way and not be busy doing something. Paris isn’t just a ‘hop over the pond,’ no matter what Europeans say about it.”

She glanced at him and found him studying her with a tight frown. “How did you know she was in Paris?”

She shrugged, looking away from him. “I must have read it somewhere, or you probably mentioned something about Paris. And…and, it just figures that she’d be on her way. I mean, what would be the point of her making her father even angrier? She has to care about him.”

“That’s up for grabs, but no matter what’s going on, she isn’t here, and with any luck she won’t show up. That would make things simpler all the way around,” he said as they drove on. “There’s so much going on, and I don’t have time to babysit.”

“And you, with your take on kids, you’d be some babysitter,” she muttered.

He shot her a look, but she was still staring out the windows, her hands pressed flat to the purse on her lap. “It wouldn’t be my idea of fun,” he said, turning away from her to look out at the early-evening streets. Then he heard himself admitting a truth he hadn’t expected to say to her. “You have this knack for getting me way off the topic and I’m not sure how you do it.”

“My father never figured it out, either,” she said. “He gets so annoyed when I—” She cut off her own words, then said, “Sorry, I’m doing it again.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” he murmured, and meant it. She kept him on his toes.

“I think it’s because I was brought up to be ‘seen and not heard.’ Look pretty and be quiet. Make a good impression, but don’t ask questions.”

He glanced at her. “You’re an only child?”

“An only child brought up by my dad.”

“And you never gave him any trouble?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m no saint.”

“Well, join the crowd,” he murmured.

“You weren’t kidding about joyriding at twelve?”

“I did it from time to time.” Matt concentrated on his driving, instead of on words that were there, words that he’d never said to anyone before. Not even Zane. Yet he was on the verge of telling a woman who was almost a perfect stranger about himself as a twelve-year-old. He stopped himself before he went down that path. Enough was enough. “And we’re off the subject again.”

Gratefully, she let the subject of saints and sinners go. “You’re right. Let’s see,” she murmured as if trying to think of something to ask him. “So, the center, yes. Are you committed to making it work or are you in a wait-and-see position, and you’ll cut your losses if it fails to perform?”

He was taken aback again to hear words of “corporate speak” coming from this woman. “I guess that about sums it up.”

“I should have gone up to take a look at the original center to see how it’s decorated.”

He drove off when the light changed. “It’s done in Mother Goose sort of stuff.” He tried to think, but was having a bit of a hard time focusing when she shifted, sighing softly, and he knew she was looking right at him now. He grasped for what he could remember about the center. “The Big Bad Wolf, Three Little Kittens. Lindsey did most of the decorating herself. She did everything with the original program. And Mr. Lewis was behind her a hundred percent. I think it might have been his idea to begin with, maybe a way of making up for the shortcomings of his own parenting.”

This time there wasn’t a sigh, but a rush of air, and he knew what she was going to say before a word was uttered. So he cut her off at the pass. “Okay, okay,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m sorry. I’m jumping to conclusions.”

“Amen,” she breathed.

He flashed her a look, half expecting a smile, but there wasn’t any humor there. The soft light exposed the cut of her high cheekbones, the fullness of her bottom lip and the anger in her expression. Despite that, her image stirred him. And he realized that he actually owed Brittany Lewis for not showing up, for making him late, for setting up the circumstance for him to meet B.J. But that didn’t mean he had to like the woman.

They were getting close to where B.J. lived, and he turned to concentrate on where he was going. “I suppose you want me to give Brittany Lewis the benefit of the doubt?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Even if she never shows up?”

“I’d even bet that she’ll show up.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Yes, and I’ll even bet that she’ll be sincere and willing to work.”

“Now, that’s a sucker bet,” he said. “She’ll never show up and even if she does, she’ll be more worried about color coordinating her wardrobe with her office than doing any work.”

“Do you want to make a bet?” she asked.

“How long do I have to wait tomorrow for her to show?”

“What time do you go into the office?”

“Usually around seven, but I’ve got some off-site meetings and won’t be in until ten.”

“Okay, ten it is.”

“Why are you so sure of this?” he asked, his fleeting glance finding her looking at him intently.

“Is it a bet?” she asked, matching a question for a question.

“That depends. What’s at stake?”

She shifted again, and the air stirred slightly in the car, carrying that flowery scent with it to brush his skin. Then she spoke and shocked him, something she’d seemed able to do with ease ever since they’d collided in the empty rooms of the center. “For you, an apology to Brittany Lewis.”

He slowed, but for no other reason than shock as he looked at her. “What?”

“An apology, as in, ‘I’m sorry I thought what I did of you,’ or something like that. You can write your own lines.”

“Thanks for that,” he murmured, and saw the street ahead of them where the town house complex was.

“Agreed?”

He had no idea how this whole conversation had ended in a bet that he knew he’d win. “First, tell me what do I get if I’m right and she never shows up?”

“What do you want? You name it.”

He knew what he wanted from her, but how could he tell this woman that he’d like her? “You admitting I was right, but this can’t just be her walking through the door.” He upped the stakes. “She has to actually do something productive at LynTech.”

“Then the ten o’clock deadline doesn’t work, does it?”

“Okay, why don’t we extend it for…oh…let’s see…December 23rd at—” He glanced at the dash clock, shocked that it had only been an hour and a half since this had all started. “Seven-thirty,” he said. “Give her—and you—plenty of time.”

“You’ve got a deal,” she said without hesitating. Then sat forward. “Let me out here,” she said abruptly, motioning to a small shopping center.

“The complex is just around the corner, isn’t it?”

“I need to shop,” she said as she motioned to a small market at one end of the complex.

He pulled into the parking lot and stopped by the grocery store. “I’ll wait,” he offered.

“No, thanks, I’m fine. I can walk. Thanks for the ride.” She opened the door, scrambling out, then she was looking back in at him. “I think Brittany Lewis will surprise you.”

He shrugged. “Maybe,” he said, and thought B. J. Smythe was the one who was surprising him. All he wanted right then was to figure out how to prolong this contact, but he didn’t have a chance. B.J. flashed him a smile, a stunning expression that literally made his breath catch in his chest.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, then the door closed and she was walking away.

He was tempted to watch her, just to watch her move, the way her hips swayed, her long legs, the way her hair brushed her shoulders. But he didn’t. He put the car in reverse and drove back out onto the street. Odd how the night seemed interminable now. Not long ago it had been packed with things for him to do, mostly work. But right then he couldn’t think of any of the things he had to do. Just the things he wished he could do.

BRITTANY MOVED into the store, going as far away from Matt Terrel and her stupidity as quickly as she could. A bet? What in the world had possessed her to do that? Probably the same thing that possessed her when she asked him for a ride. How could Brittany Lewis show up tomorrow, and not jeopardize the job she really wanted? She knew if she told him the truth, he’d put her in that office his secretary would find for her and banish her to the farthest regions of the place. As far away from him as he could get her.

But Brittany Lewis had to show up. Her father had to know she was there doing what she’d promised she’d do. And Matthew Terrel had to know she was there. Then she realized something. She never had to see Matt as Brittany. He’d said his secretary was taking care of everything. He wouldn’t be in until ten the next morning.

She turned, looked out the glass door at the fading tail-lights of Matt’s car and waited until it disappeared to the south. If he wouldn’t be there before ten, Brittany Lewis would be there at nine. She’d meet with the assistant, then leave again. With a good excuse. Maybe Brittany Lewis would need a new wardrobe to match her new office after all. She didn’t realize that she’d laughed out loud until someone spoke behind her.

“Can I help you, Miss?”

She turned to see a bulky gray-haired man behind a long glass counter. He was staring at her, and her laughter died. “Is there a local cab company?”

“Diamond.” He motioned over his left shoulder at a small ad board, one of many that lined the walls of the store. “That’s them.”

She saw the ad for Diamond Cabs, read the number, then looked back at the man. “Thanks,” she said and went back outside.

There was no sign of Matt, and she paused for a moment, a bit shocked when she realized how her life had shifted in the past hour. Crazy. She felt a bit insane at the speed of the changes in it, but there was an exhilaration, too, partly due to her desire to get this job on her own, with her own talent and work, and partly because she knew that she was going to face Matthew Terrel as Brittany Lewis in one week, and get an apology from him.

She called the cab company on her cell phone to get a ride to her family home south of the city. While she waited for it to arrive, she put in a call to her father. It rang four times before it went to his service. She left a quick message, just saying she had arrived in Houston safely, and she’d call him tomorrow evening with details about her job with LynTech.

As she hung up, she realized how relieved she was that she hadn’t had to talk to him directly. It had been hard enough twisting the truth with Matt, but she’d never get away with it with her father. So, the less he knew, the better.

December 12

BY THE TIME BRITTANY returned to LynTech the next morning at nine o’clock, she’d slept sporadically, finished a rough idea for the wall murals for the center and dressed to look like Brittany Lewis. A beige silk shirt, perfectly tailored slacks in taupe linen, leather sandals and her curls swept back with diamond combs and falling to her shoulders. She looked somewhat like a “spoiled brat” she thought, with gold added at her wrist and ears. It would be perfect for her meeting with Matt’s assistant.

She parked her sports car down the street in a public garage, gathered up her small leather tote bag, her purse and her portfolio, then walked up the block along the Christmasy street. The drive had taken forever last night with Matt, but now she seemed to get to LynTech in the blink of an eye. She took a breath, then stepped into LynTech, crossed the lobby filled with the scent of pine from a towering Christmas tree, to head for the elevators near the back. She first went up to the executive level and was thankful that she’d remembered there was a ladies’ restroom immediately to her right in the corridor.

She stepped inside the sitting area done in lavenders and pale turquoise, spotted a small couch and crossed to it. She slipped her tote and the envelope behind the overstuffed pillows, stood back, glanced at herself in the mirrors that lined the walls, then with a flip of her curls, slipped back out into the corridor.

A gray-haired man in a navy uniform was coming down the hall and stopped when he saw her. “Can I help you, Miss?”

“I’m Brittany Lewis. I have an appointment with Mr. Terrel,” she said quickly, then motioned to the offices her father had used for so many years. “Is that his office?”

“No, ma’am, that’s Mr. Holden’s office,” he said, then motioned in the opposite direction. “Mr. Terrel’s down there, the third door on the right.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, then passed him to head to Matt’s office. The thick carpet in the monotoned corridor muffled her footsteps. She stopped by the double doors labeled simply M. Terrel. She pushed back one of the doors, and, as she stepped into the reception area, her heart started to pound.

“Please let him not be here,” she prayed as she looked around the large space, starkly modern in design, with glass and black marble in sleek lines and very little of it. There were a few shelves, a couple of plants, a tiny Christmas tree, all silver and blue, sitting in front of low windows and a huge reception desk. A woman sat behind it, working at a computer, and she looked up as Brittany went farther into the room.

“May I help you?” she asked as she turned toward Brittany.

“Miss Lewis to see Mr. Terrel.”

The woman looked at her for just a fraction of a second too long, before she fell into her “professional” face with a nice smile. “Oh, Miss Lewis, I’m sorry. Mr. Terrel isn’t in yet.”

Brittany was surprised at the degree of relief she felt at not having to face Matt. She smiled, hoping that the expression didn’t look too forced. “Oh, I’m the one who’s sorry,” she said with determined politeness. “I was supposed to be here yesterday, but got held up in London. The Season’s in full swing and the parties and shopping….” She rolled her eyes expressively. “Well, you know how it can be.” She waved her free hand. “But I made it, finally.”

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